


The Experiment

by littlelovelyspiderling



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Peter is adorable and gets tickled by the avengers the end, Platonic Relationships, Precious Peter Parker, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Homecoming (Movie), Tickling, Ticklish Peter Parker, ticklish!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelovelyspiderling/pseuds/littlelovelyspiderling
Summary: Peter Parker agrees to help Black Widow test a new device. When he gets stuck, some of his fellow Avengers decide to have some fun.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 210





	The Experiment

“Hey kid, how strong are you?”

Peter blinked and looked up from his homework, which was strewn across the coffee table in a chaotic jumble. “Who, me?”

“No, the _other_ kid sitting criss-cross on the floor eating three orders of In-and-Out french fries.”

The teen smiled shyly, licking the salt from his fingers. “Oh, right. Well, um, strong? Yeah, I’m pretty strong.”

It was a long weekend. After a lot of begging and bribing, May had agreed to let him spend it at the Avengers compound. It actually took less convincing than Peter had expected, seeing how May had doubled down on strictness ever since her nephew’s impromptu field trip to space and the catastrophic fallout that had come to pass. Now that everything was back to normal, everyone seemed a lot more tense and protective. It took weeks before she let him go back to his evening patrols. But when he brought up Mr. Stark’s invitation to stay at the upstate facility for a few days, insisting that he’d get all his homework done and do the dishes for the next month, May had voiced her approval surprisingly readily. Maybe she was sick of having him cooped up in the house with her for so long: school had been canceled for a spell as the world tried to piece itself back together.

Or maybe she’d noticed how shaken the experience had left Peter, and she thought the weekend getaway might help cheer him up a little. If he was being honest with himself, Peter still wasn’t fully recovered from the whole ‘dying then coming back to life’ ordeal, and he felt like he’d never be back to his old self again.

But he refused to let anything spoil this trip for him. Because he was at the _Avengers facility._ Training, studying, and hanging out with Earth's mightiest heroes for an entire _three days._ He could hardly contain his excitement.

“On a scale from Tony Stark sans suit to the Hulk, how strong would you say you are?”

“Hey,” Tony groused from the opposite side of the room. He shot a glare over his shoulder before turning back to the dizzying screen of 3D displays in front of him, which his fingers danced across like keys on a piano. “Why you gotta do me like that, Romanoff? I’m strong. I lift. I drink protein shakes and wheat grass and all that shit.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. Peter giggled.

“I would guess I’m somewhere between Captain America and the Hulk. Probably closer to Cap. Definitely below Thor.”

“You think you’re stronger than Steve?” Natasha asked. He was expecting judgement, but her tone carried an air of curiosity instead.

“Only because I was able to hold an entire ferry together,” he said. He glanced at Stark and lowered his voice. “And I sorta lifted an entire building off myself.”

“Really?” Natasha mused. “Well, in that case, I’d say you’re the perfect candidate.”

Spider-Man frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Candidate? For what?”

“Stark, you mind if I borrow the kid for a minute?”

Tony waved his hand in acknowledgement, mumbling under his breath as he continued to work. Peter hadn’t seen the man this busy since he’d gone about sorting through the complicated situation between Secretary Ross’ government agenda and the newly-reformed Avengers. Now, nano-tech was the word that kept popping up time and time again. He had no idea how his mentor could possibly make his Iron Man armors any cooler than they already were, yet he always found a way to make it so.

“Sweet,” Natasha said, taking the young hero by the wrist. “Come on, this way.”

Peter Parker had to admit: he was a little scared of Black Widow. He’d seen her fight, he knew her rep, and he always felt a bit uneasy around her, like she could break his neck at any moment and he’d never see it coming. Not that he expected she would—in general, Ms. Romanoff was nice to him. Certainly nicer than Sam or Dr. Strange, who never missed a chance to poke fun at him due his age, his height, or anything else they decided to find amusing at the time. Of course, Peter always had a witty comeback to counter with, and he knew deep down they didn’t _actually_ hate him. At least, he hoped not.

But Natasha was close to impossible to get any kind of read on. She could seem very kind and relaxed one minute then serious and deadly the next. And no matter what she was doing, it always felt liked she had a secret ulterior motive at play, one that Peter could never guess.

She brought him to the next floor down. The elevator opened to large lab, which was packed with all sorts of machines, equipment, vehicles, and weapons. Most of them were covered by sheets and blanketed in a thick layer of dust, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Others looked like they’d just been used, and some of the large machines were currently hard at work, creaking and grinding with progress.

“Wow,” Peter said. “What is this place?”

“Storage unit for all of the Avengers’ new tech,” she replied, stepping through the doors and on to stained concrete. “Some of its ancient, outdated. Lots of old Stark tech. We get new loads from S.H.I.E.L.D. every week.”

Peter followed, gazing around in awe. He trailed his fingers along the rows and rows of tarps, squinting to try to see what treasures lied hidden underneath. His touch caused one of the sheets to slip off to one side, and he froze in place.

“No way,” he gawked. He reached out and pressed his hand to the cold metal. “No _freaking_ way! Is that—is this—Mr. Stark’s _Hulkbuster_ armor? The giant Iron Man suit he used to stop Dr. Banner when he went crazy in South Africa?”

Natasha smiled at his childlike giddiness. “Sure is. Just the helmet, though. The rest is still under repairs after the fight in Wakanda.”

Peter squished his face against the dim lens and cupped his hands around his eyes. “This is so cool! I bet it’s like being inside a Transformer, or one of those huge Pacific Rim Jaeger things!”

“Probably,” she said, turning around to stifle a laugh. _Geez—no wonder Stark was so destroyed after losing this kid._ She pushed a lock of hair out of her face. “But that’s not the tech I brought you down here for.”

Spider-Man glanced up eagerly. “Which one? Am I gonna get to test some of the weapons in here? Is there, like, a strength-tester type machine or something?” For an instant, his excitement deflated. “Wait. You didn’t bring me down here just to make me move stuff, did you? Is that why you asked how strong I am? Because you want me to carry a bunch of heavy things around? I mean, I’m not saying no, I was just kinda hoping—”

“I’m not making you move things,” she assured him. She walked across the room to a counter that housed a wide assortment of tiny devices. She grabbed one from the line and tossed it to the ground where it materialized into a new shape in an instant, expanding like a high-tech version of those capsules you leave in water that grow into colorful dinosaurs. She nodded towards it. “I need you to help me test this thing out.”

Peter grinned and ran to her side. He skidded to a stop and beamed at the strange contraption. To his surprise, it looked like nothing more than flat, metal, slightly slanted table. A wrinkle formed along his brow as he tried to understand what the big deal was.

“A…table?” he said bemusedly. He poked at it, expecting it to grow legs or something. “What are we testing? How many cups I can stack on it before everything falls?”

“It’s from Wakanda,” she explained. “It’s made of vibranium.”

Spider-Man’s eyes widened. “Whoa, seriously? Like, the stuff Cap’s shield is made of?”

“Yes. Which means it’s hella expensive, so if it doesn’t work, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“What does it do?” he asked.

Natasha leaned against it with both hands. “It’s supposed to be able to completely immobilize enhanced individuals. In a situation where someone like you or Thor or an enemy possessing superhuman strength needs to be restrained in order to keep others safe, this thing can stop them in an instant and hold them for as long as we need.” She turned back to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sure would’ve been nice to have something like this back when we were fighting those alien freaks.”

Peter stared at her then back at the table. “So…it’s like…a cage…?”

“In a sense. It’s more like an instant straight-jacketing machine. Here, let me show you.”

She grabbed him by the shoulders and moved him to the open space in the center of the room. He stumbled awkwardly over his feet until she had him place, feeling a little silly. Pulling two small beads from her belt, Natasha walked towards the back wall to stand opposite of him. She stopped when there was about twenty feet of space between them.

“All right, so let’s pretend we’re fighting.” She rolled the pair of beads between her fingers. “You’re an evil murderous alien monster with super strength. I’m the heroic Avenger who needs to stop you.” She coaxed him forward with a twitch of her hand. “Now, run at me like you’re going to attack me.”

Peter had no idea where this was going. He was a little afraid, but also incredibly curious. He swallowed his fear, then balled his hands into fists at his side.

“Um, okay. If you say so.”

Without allowing himself to think on it longer, Spider-Man charged. He didn’t know what she expected him to do once he reached her. Fortunately or not, he didn’t get the chance to find out. Before he had cleared ten feet, Natasha flung the beads at him. They split in half mid-air, then zipped towards him as tiny streaks of light. Peter was startled when he felt both of his wrists and ankles get hit with something. He staggered to a stop, staring down at his hands to find thick metal cuffs latched around both arms. They weren't attached by a chain or anything—they were just stuck there, like two heavy bracelets. He looked to Natasha with a scowl.

“Wait, what the hell are—?”

A beep sounded from what appeared to be a watch she was wearing. She had her thumb against a button in the center. Instantly, Peter was yanked sideways by the metal clasps. He yelped in surprise. He didn’t even have time to register what was happening before his back collided with a cold, smooth surface, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling, stunned.

“W-what the—?” Spider-Man tried to lift his arms, but they were pinned down by the metal wristbands. His legs, too, had succumbed to the same fate: arrested flat and completely immobile. Two bands of silvery-looking material shot out from underneath both of his shoulders and stretched across his collarbone, connecting in the middle of his chest to form a belt that restrained him even more than he already was. The same restrictive bands also formed around both of his knees. It took him a few moments to register that he was stuck to the vibranium table that had looked so innocuous only minutes ago, and he could barely move.

“M-Ms. Romanoff?” he called out fearfully. He strained to lift his head, which was about the only movement he was capable of. His terror subsided a little when she stepped into his narrow frame of view, looking just as surprised as he was.

“Holy crap. That was…wow.” She stared down at her watch, which Peter concluded was some kind of controller for the restraining device. “Those are some seriously strong magnets.”

“Is it working? I mean, is this what it’s supposed to be doing?” He squirmed and shifted as much as he could. He wasn’t prone to claustrophobia, but being rendered so completely incapable of moving definitely rubbed him the wrong way.

“Yep. Perfectly. It’s designed to rapidly capture and contain opponents. It’s amazing how they manage to fit so much stuff inside such a tiny container.” She held out the device on her wrist as she spoke. “The base plate can shrink or grow to accommodate different kinds of combatants, from Antman-sized to up to twenty by twenty feet. It also has different levels of containment for more powerful enemies.”

Peter nodded, trying his best to look relaxed. “That’s—yeah, that’s really impressive. For sure.” He attempted to shrug, but even _that_ was beyond his ability. “Seems a bit overkill, though, don’t you think?”

“There’s no such thing as overkill when it comes to protecting the world from aliens, kiddo.” She clicked a few of the buttons on her wrist controller. “I could set it so that your entire body is electrified stiff, or where every joint and tendon have their own personal restraints. The highest setting is essentially that scene from Star Wars where Han Solo gets stuck in carbonite, except with vibranium.”

“Really?” Peter beamed. “From _The Empire Strikes Back?_ That’s actually possible? That’s insane!” Then he winced, flexing his fingers nervously. “But, um, please don’t do that to me.”

“I won’t,” Natasha said. “All I need for you to do now is to try your hardest to break out.”

The teen blinked. “Break out?”

“Shuri claimed that on the lowest security setting, not even the Hulk should be able to escape. In the event I need to use this thing in the future, I want to make sure that’s true. But since Bruce is still having trouble ‘hulking out’ and Thor would probably end up short-circuiting the whole mechanism, I figured you’d be the best test subject.” She gestured towards him with a wave of her hand. “So, whenever you’re ready.”

“Just…go crazy? Like an animal caught in a trap?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Scoffing, Peter turned to look at the ceiling. “Okay. I’ll, uh, do my best.”

And he did. Peter summoned every ounce of his spider strength to try to break free of the bonds, straining and wrenching and twisting with all his might. He even tried getting his fingers around the cuffs and bending the metal so he could wriggle his way out. All of his efforts were to no avail. The vibranium restraints had him beat. He was stuck. Knowing that Shuri had designed the device, it didn’t exactly surprise him.

“So I guess that means it works,” Peter concluded, panting softly. “Yay.”

“It’s a very sturdy contraption,” Natasha agreed. “It should come in handy in the future.”

Spider-Man bit the inside of his cheek. “So, um, does that mean I can get out now? Or are there other things you need help with?”

“No, that’s it. Just give me a second. I need to write something down.”

Peter nodded, and she walked back to the counter, tapping at one of the screens. He rested against the metal table, more than ready to be able to move freely again.

A moment later, the elevator at the back of the room dinged and opened. As the person entered the lab, it took Peter a second to determine their identity from his unconventional position. The figure stopped when he saw him, furrowing his brow.

“Peter? Is that you?” Sam glanced to his right. “Uh, Nat? What’s going on here?”

“Science experiment,” she replied, not looking up.

“We’re testing to see if I can break out of this restraining thingy with my super strength!” Peter said enthusiastically. “It’s supposed to catch bad guys who have enhanced abilities and whatnot.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Can you?”

The young hero pouted. “No. But it’s made of vibranium, and it’s meant to stop people as strong as the Hulk, so…”

Sam walked to stand beside him, placing his hands on his hips. “Huh. Interesting.”

“All right, all done,” Nat said. She trekked across the room with her wrist held to her eyes. “Ready to be free?”

“Yes please,” Peter said sheepishly. But before she clicked the release button, Sam held up his hand.

“Hold on, Romanoff,” he said. His lips twitched into the tiniest sliver of a smile. “How exactly were you testing to see if he could break out?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? I just told him to try to escape, and he couldn’t.”

“But that’s so unrealistic,” Sam insisted. “If you had a bad guy trapped in that thing, they would be fighting to get out like their life depended on it. He’s got no incentive to escape.”

Peter shifted against the restraints. “I mean, I am pretty uncomfortable. And my pride’s a little hurt that I wasn’t strong enough to get out.”

Sam shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-uh. If you _really_ want to test this contraption’s integrity, you’ll have to give the kid a compelling reason to escape.”

“Like ice cream?” he suggested a little too quickly. When Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, he faked a cough. “I mean, um, a steak? Two steaks. And a cold brandy on ice.”

“Go ahead and try if you want,” Natasha told him. “But I seriously doubt there’s any way he’s getting out of this thing on his own. Even with ice cream on the line.”

Sam laid his hands on the metal table. A smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, like he knew something that nobody else did. “Well, that wasn’t really the type of incentive I had in mind, Romanoff. You’re suggesting we give him an award for escaping, which is one way to go about this. But I think punishing him for _not_ getting out would be much more effective.”

Peter frowned. “Punish me? How? Isn’t being stuck in this thing already punishment enough?”

Sam drummed his fingers against the table. Peter could feel the short vibrations humming against his back.

“I’ve got one idea in mind,” he said, raising his hand over Peter’s midsection. “Are you ticklish, kid?”

The question took him by surprise. It was not something that typically came up in casual conversation. He wondered why Sam thought the information was pertinent to the experiment, until he realized what this was leading to. His first instinct was to guard himself, because experience had taught him that no matter what answer you gave in response, you were going to get tickled. But his wrists simply strained against the clasps. His arms were locked in place, splayed out at both of his sides. His feet and legs were firmly glued to the table. He hadn’t expected anyone to take advantage of the helpless situation Ms. Romanoff had placed him in, so he hadn’t even considered just how vulnerable he was in his current state.

Until now.

Peter’s ears went red. “I—um—I don’t—w-why—”

Those were the only words he got out before a finger poked him in the belly. A high-pitched squeak jumped from his throat before he could stop it. The grin that overtook Sam’s features made him want to die.

“Oh, so you _are,_ ” he said mischievously. Peter’s face flushed four different shades of pink in a matter of seconds. “In that case, this ought to give you a _very_ big incentive to escape, don’t you think?”

“W-wahait!” Peter stammered. Sam had literally touched him _once,_ but knowing what was coming was filling him with so much anxiety that he couldn’t contain the laughter already seeping into his voice. He pulled against the cuffs as hard as he could, but he knew it was hopeless. “I—I can’t get out! It’s impossible!”

“Aw, come on now, Spider-ling,” Sam said, swirling his finger just above his stomach. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. I _know_ you can do this. I believe in you. All you need is a little motivation.”

With that, Sam started poking his belly with both index fingers, moving up and down his torso with teasingly casual movements. Within seconds, Peter was reduced to a helpless bundle of giggles, recoiling at every touch as much as the restraints would allow. Peter had been tickled before, so he knew he was pretty sensitive, but _never_ like this. Being unable to defend himself made it a hundred _billion_ times worse than all the times Uncle Ben had pinned him to the bed when he was little, or when May would trap him in the corner of the couch and tickle his neck with her fiendish nails. Here, stuck inside an inescapable restraint machine, there was nothing he could do but laugh himself into a frenzy.

“Nohoho! Pleehease!” the teen begged. Sam only grinned wider.

“Are you kidding? I’m barely even touching you.” Suddenly, all ten of Sam’s fingers convened on his stomach at once and began to scribble all over midsection. “Now, if I was doing something like _this—_ yeah, that would make sense.”

If Peter was able, he’d be thrashing all over the place, kicking his legs and hugging his arms around his body. Instead, the only thing he could do was desperately try to angle himself away from Sam’s merciless fingers. To his dismay, his efforts did nothing to dampen the onslaught of tickles, and his light giggling transformed into heavy, uncontrollable laughter that racked his entire frame. Off to the side, Natasha watched the poor kid amusedly. Not even she could deny how adorable he was.

“Ms. Rohomanahaff!” Peter squealed, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face against the table. “Hehehahahelp me!”

Sam looked up from Peter without slowing his attack. “Yeah, Ms. Romanoff. Why don’t you help? I could use a hand over here.”

Natasha hinted a smile. “That’s okay. I think you’re doing just fine on your own.” She snagged a can of beer from the fridge in the cabinet and cracked it open. “But keep it up. I think it’s working.”

“You know what? I think you’re right.” He leaned towards the kid’s bright red face, tickling every inch of his tummy. “You hear that, Spidey? Nat believes in you too. Just try a little harder, and you’ll be out of here in no time!”

“Shuhuhut up!” Peter laughed. “Y-you—you— _ahahahasshole!”_

Sam stuck his tongue into the inside of his cheek. “What was that?” he said threateningly, grinning from ear to ear. He moved his hands down to Peter’s sides. “What did you just call me?” He started kneading his thumbs into the kid’s hipbones, going faster and faster with every passing second. “No, go ahead. Say it again. I dare you.”

Poor little Peter began to shriek with giggles. Clearly name-calling in his defenseless position was not a wise idea. Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at how high-pitched and childlike the young hero’s laughter was. He was too cute for his own good.

“Is someone dying in here?” a voice called from across the room. Sam turned to see Clint Barton standing at the foot of the stairs, wrinkling his brow.

“Oh, hey B,” he greeted him. “Naw, no one’s dying. I’m just trying to motivate the kid to get out of this device on his own. He’s got really bad self-esteem issues.”

The archer strolled over to the metal table where Spider-Man lied. He was relieved to find that the noise he was hearing wasn’t from a murder scene, but instead the shrill, happy laughter of a ticklish teenager. He smiled and shook his head.

“Aw, buddy, what are they doing to you? Is the big, mean Falcon bullying you?”

Peter squirmed and giggled, knowing well there was no point in asking Hawkeye for help. Despite being a father, the master assassin was not very keen to pity, especially when it came to Spider-Man. He tended to lean towards the Sam and Strange side of the spectrum when it came to interacting with the younger hero. And from the smug grin plastered on his face as he watched Peter laugh helplessly, he assumed that wasn’t changing any time soon.

Nonetheless, groveling was pretty much his only option.

“Hehehelp! Ahahaha! Pleeheehease!” Sam’s cruel, wiggly fingers would _not_ gave his ticklish tummy a break. “Ohoho my gahahad! I can’t—I _cahahahan’t!”_

“See? What did I tell yah? All he keeps saying is ‘I can’t do it’ and ‘it’s impossible!’ Even though he knows Nat and I both believe in him, he still doubts himself. Isn’t that heartbreaking?”

“Truly,” Clint agreed. To Peter’s horror, he felt a single fingertip start twitching against his left armpit. “Maybe he needs just a _little_ more encouragement to give him that final push.”

“Maybe,” Sam concurred, smirking. Another finger found his right armpit, and Peter fell to pieces.

“Nonononohohoho!” he pleaded piteously. “I cahan’t—I cahahan’t—I _can’t!”_

“Does Petey have ticklish underarms?” Clint teased, brushing his fingernails up and down the sensitive skin. Try as he might to guard himself, Peter was defenseless against the second layer of torment.

_“Ahahahaha!”_ he screeched. “Nohohahaha! Stahahap it!”

Clint smiled. “Hmm. I’d say he does.” He switched to digging all ten fingers into the hollows of each pit, the kid’s loud and giggly protests quickly teaching him which techniques were most effective and where his most ticklish spots were located. He knew applying his experience as a highly skilled interrogator to tormenting an innocent kid was a little harsh, but Peter’s laughter was so adorable and uplifting, all he wanted was to make more of it.

_One_ person tickling his vulnerable body was bad enough, but Peter was certain that two would kill him. Starting from wrists, Barton scuttled his fingers all the way down the teen’s arms, pausing just above his pits to build anticipation.

“Damn, you’re _really_ making him squirm,” Sam chuckled, watching the poor kid crumble beneath Clint’s upper body attack. He continued to squeeze and pinch Peter’s sides and hips. The way he twitched from his every touch was amusing. “How are you going to survive as an Avenger if you can’t even take a little tickling, Pete? What if your nemeses find out your weakness and you spill all of our secrets to them?” He noticed Peter’s shirt had hiked up a little from his constant twisting and shifting, and a very evil idea popped into his head. He slipped his fingers underneath the material and started spidering his nails against his bare stomach. “One way or another, they always figure out how to get under your skin.”

Immediately, Peter’s laughter jumped three octaves and several decibels higher. “NOHOHOHAHAHA!” He threw his head back and arched his spine against the table. “STAHAHAHAP! STAHAP IT!”

“Uh-oh,” Clint giggled. “You’re in for it now.”

Ten deadly fingertips moved freely over his tummy, exploring every inch of the soft, unbearably ticklish skin. They dragged up and down his sides, clawed at his midriff, and drew ruthless circles round and round his sensitive bellybutton. And all Peter could do was laugh and laugh, balling his hands into fists against the table.

“What does that feel like?” Sam asked him. “Like a bunch of itsy-bitsy spiders? Crawling all over the itsy-bitsy Spider-Man’s belly?” 

“PLEEHEEHEASE!” he cried. “NOHOHO MORE! NOHO _MOHOHORE!”_

“Hang on, I want to try something,” Clint said, taking his hands off his underarms for an instant. Sam’s fingers gave his tummy a moment’s break, and Peter thought he might faint from relief. “I always do this to Cooper whenever he’s being a little punk.”

Peter didn’t even register Barton moving from the head of the table to the middle. He was too busy relishing in the feeling of _not_ having twenty fingers simultaneously digging into his most sensitive areas. He didn’t think there was any better feeling in the entire world.

“P-please, heheh…” he giggled weakly, fighting to catch his breath. “Just…just gimme a minute…”

Not even three seconds later, Clint lifted up Peter’s shirt, wrapped his hands around both sides of his torso, and blew the biggest, longest, most insufferable raspberry directly into the kid’s exposed belly. The sound that left Peter’s throat the moment Barton made contact was less like a laugh and more like a scream.

Natasha glanced at the kid and shook her head with a chuckle. “You guys are _so_ mean.”

While kneading his fingers into his sides and hips, Clint assaulted the kid’s tummy with raspberry after merciless raspberry. Peter bucked and shrieked, whipping his head from side to side.

“AHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAAA!”

After six in a row, Barton smiled down at the puddle of laughter that used to be Peter Parker. “What do you say? Are you motivated yet? You almost ready to break out of this thing?”

Peter had hoped after so much tickling his body would start to get used to it, but no. It seemed as time went on, his skin only became _more_ sensitive to every poke and touch that came his way. Which meant with each passing minute, the increasing intensity of the tickling was driving him _that_ much crazier. This was not at all how he’d expected his weekend with the Avengers to go. He cringed beneath the fingers scratching and stroking his defenseless tummy, bubbling with laughter.

“What’s the matter? I’m just giving you a belly rub. Like you’re a puppy. A teeny-tiny spider-puppy. I thought puppy’s loved getting belly rubs. Don’t they?”

He scribbled his nails up and down his entire midsection. While Clint was busy teasing his tummy, Peter felt someone pull both of his shoes off.

“Maybe we need to try something new,” Sam suggested. “Maybe we need to give his arms _and_ his legs a compelling reason to get out.”

“WAHAHAIT!” Peter squealed, but it was no use. Sam held his foot still with one hand and started tickling it with the other, skittering his fingers along the sides tracing the arch from ball to heel. Peter tried so hard to kick himself free. The vibranium restraints were too strong.

“I feel like most people are just ticklish in _some_ places,” Sam chuckled, watching the kid twist and twitch and giggle as he viciously strummed his nails against the center of his foot. “But _you,_ my friend, are ticklish all over. I think there’s something biological at work there. Maybe you should see a doctor.” He peeled back Peter’s scrunched-up toes and started worming his fingers between every single one, making sure no piggies were left out of the tickle attack. Once he’d finished tormenting that foot, he switched to the other one, starting the entire cruel process _all over again._

“IHI’M GOHONNA DIHIHIHIE!” he cried shrilly. “P-PLEEHEEHEASE _STAHAHAHAP!”_

“Who’s going to die?” Steve Rogers asked. He and Rhodes descended the stairs into view. Their faces were clouded with concern.

“Peter,” Natasha said, pointing. “They’re tickling him to death.”

Cap glanced at the laughing, beat-red kid sprawled across the table. Sam and Clint were teamed up on the helpless teen, kneading his sides and tickling his feet. Steve pulled his phone from his belt and frowned.

“Then why did you text us ‘come 2 basement if u need a pick-me-up’?”

Natasha smiled and shrugged. “Because his laughter is probably the most contagious thing in the entire world.”

A moment later, Tony Stark appeared behind them, standing on his tip-toes to see over Cap’s shoulder. “What pick-me-up, Romanoff? Did my tanning bed finally come in?”

Sam winced. “Uh-oh. Daddy’s here.”

Steve stepped to the side to let him pass, masking a smile. “I think they’re bullying your kid, Stark.”

Tony glanced across the lab and spotted Peter between Barton and Sam. The sound of wild, high-pitched laughter met his ears.

Once he realized his only potential savior was in the room, Peter abandoned any dignity he had left. “M-MIHIHISTER— _AHAHAHA!”_ the teen screeched. “MR. STAHAHARK, _HELP!”_

Tony jogged to his side, and Sam and Clint stopped tickling him, sharing a nervous look. He stared down at his poor little mentee, strapped to a table like an asylum patient, red as a tomato, panting and wheezing and giggling all at the same time. He looked so small and exhausted and desperate, like he’d do anything to be free. Stark felt pity swell in his chest for the hapless teen. But in a way, the kid also appeared…happy. He knew it was artificial, that it was a happiness being completely forced upon him. And yet, ever since Peter had returned to the world after disintegrating into dust in his arms, the smile that normally occupied his face at all hours of the day had become noticeably absent. He was quieter, more distant, less excitable. After everything he’d gone through, it was a lot harder to make the kid laugh.

Tony lifted his gaze to the group of people in the lab, honing in on Sam and Clint. A deep wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. He looked like a dad about to scold his children for picking on their little brother. Everyone waited to see how he would retaliate.

“Come on, guys. Seriously?” He traced his glare across every face in the room. Even Cap felt guilty for some reason. Then, slowly, a smile pulled at the corner of his lip. “If you _really_ want to make the kid laugh, you’ve got to go for his ribs.”

Everybody blinked in astonishment. Peter’s relief reeled.

“W-what?” Mr. Stark?” His mentor looked down at him apologetically.

“Sorry, Pete,” he said, giving his hair a ruffle. Then he locked his fingers around his ribcage.

Spider-Man was a strong and nimble individual who had the ability to detect attacks before they even happened. His skill set made it difficult to ever catch him by surprise, including the occasional times Tony had tried to poke or pinch his sides to help ease the constant tension he carried in his shoulders. Despite the kid’s happy-go-lucky facade, Peter was an incredibly anxious person, and sometimes needed to be reminded to relax a little, especially in the presence of his fellow Avengers. But Stark rarely succeeded in loosening his nerves, and he’d never had the chance to make him fully, authentically laugh before.

But right now, Peter was trapped, and he had an aunt who loved to share embarrassing facts about her nephew. This was an opportunity too rare and wonderful to pass up.

So the genius billionaire started drilling his fingers into the kid’s ribs. The response was immediate and hysterical. He watched Peter’s face shift from shock to betrayal to denial to defeat in the span of two seconds. For the first few moments, he laughed like crazy, squirming and shrieking as Stark switched between tickling every rib and grinding his knuckles into his entire ribcage. His adorable, uncontrollable giggling filled Tony with endearment. But then, the laughter suddenly stopped. The kid fell completely silent. Stark thought for an instant that he’d hurt him or something, until he heard the new sound he was making.

Squeaky, violent hiccups began to leap from his throat and shake his whole frame. They punctured the silence sporadically and made his body jump against the table. During the spaces in between, he just lied there, laughing so hard he couldn’t even make a sound. His eyes were scrunched shut and his mouth was wide open, smiling the biggest smile in the entire world. But the only noises escaping him were hiccups. 

He couldn’t believe how much it tickled. He couldn’t believe _Mr. Stark,_ his hero and idol, was the person tickling him to tears. He’d be burning with embarrassment were he not so busy laughing to death. By that point, Peter figured, _yep, this is it. Things can’t possibly get any worse than this._ Then two more sets of hands descended on him, one on his feet and the other on his neck. Clint and Sam were back with a vengeance, and they didn’t hesitate in picking up where they’d left off. Before collapsing into a mess of hiccups again, Peter managed to squeal out one short word.

_“SHIHIHIHIT!”_

They only tickled him that way for about thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Tony was the one who finally put an end to it, certain that any more would make the kid burst. Even after all thirty fingers had lifted from his sensitive skin, Peter continued to laugh. Natasha clicked the release button, and the cuffs fell from his wrists and ankles, shrinking back into beads. Immediately, Peter curled into a ball, hugging himself around the middle and pulling his knees to his chest. Tony placed a sympathetic hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I know that was mean. We’ll find a way to make it up to you. Want to get some ice cream?”

To his surprise, Peter was still giggling. His shoulders bounced as airy laughs sputtered from his lips. Stark smiled bemusedly.

“Kid? Are you all right? Look, no one’s gonna get you anymore. I promise.”

His reassurance did nothing to stem the continuous stream of giggles flooding from the teenager. He didn’t seem able to stop.

“I think you guys broke him,” Natasha said. Tony pulled Spider-Man to the edge of the table and tried to make him sit up.

“Peter, it’s okay,” he chuckled amusedly, holding him upright and rubbing his shoulders. It was like he was under an unbreakable laughing spell. “Come on now. Can you really not stop?”

The kid’s weight tipped forward, and he staggered off the table. Stark flinched and caught him with a start. Peter slumped against his chest, giggling into his shirt.

“I c-can’t _breathe_ , eheehee…” he laughed weakly. “Please. My _sides._ Oho my gosh…”

Tony patted him awkwardly on the back. The others watched with small smiles.

“You’re fine, kid,” Sam snorted, giving his head an affectionate nudge as he walked by. “You definitely needed that laugh.”

“That has to be the happiest you’ve been in months,” Clint agreed, trailing behind him and tousling Peter’s hair. They both left via the stairs, satisfied with their work.

“We’ll be in the lounge,” Natasha said. The rest of the Avengers followed her. The sound of footsteps clomping upwards eventually faded. The room would have been left relatively quiet, were it not for Peter’s continuous giggling.

“Can you walk?” Tony asked, relaxing a little now that there weren’t so many eyes around. He held the kid with both hands against his back. Peter laughed softly, leaning into his embrace without answering. Stark sighed and smiled. “All right then. Up you go.”

Swiftly, Tony scooped the teenager off the floor and into his arms. Peter was too worn out to protest, too worn out to care. He wheezed tiny giggles into his mentor’s shoulder as he carried him into the elevator and up to the room Mr. Stark had intended to be his Avengers living quarters. Tony walked him inside and pulled back the sheets, then gently laid the kid into the bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow and the blankets were tucked around him, Peter’s laugh attack began to subside, even though his skin still tingled all over. His eyelids grew heavy, and exhaustion seized him full force.

“I know you probably hate all of us for that,” Tony chuckled, watching the kid practically melt with fatigue. “But Clint was right. I think that was the happiest I’ve seen you in a long time.”

He pulled the sheets up to the kid’s chin, then walked out of the room, leaving the door cracked just a hair. Spider-Man succumbed to sleep in minutes, his breathing finally steadying out.

Although he would never admit it, Peter knew it was true. In a convoluted sort of way, he was happy. The walls he’d built up based on the fear and trauma he’d gone through suddenly felt destabilized, like reclaiming his old, lighthearted self wasn’t so impossible after all. He knew a long road of healing still lied ahead, and he hoped there were other ways he could go about breaking down the barriers he’d built up. But for now, in the quiet of his heart, he was happy. And it was a happiness he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.


End file.
